 . . . .
 . . .
The other two slammed on their brakes. One of them was not quick enough and followed the leader into the spikes. The third however, managed to stop on the rim of a now exposed pit. He threw his Molotov straight at the wall. The section of the wall just underneath me exploded into bright orange flames. The wood of the wall was still green though, and it diminished quickly. One of the hippies on the wall began to laugh loudly, taunting the redneck. Suddenly, his head disintegrated followed by the thunder of a shotgun. Instantly, we all ducked behind the wall. A moment later, dozens, if not hundreds, of shotguns went off simultaneously, drowning out the engine sounds as well as the buzz of the chainsaws. The wall rattled under the barrage but held. The volley must have lasted less than thirty seconds, but the shotgun attack felt like it went on for hours.
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